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It occurred to me this morning, while deep in “meditation” on the toilet, that my mother may be the last person in America with no online footprint. She doesn’t own a smartphone. She has no social media accounts. Her only e-mail is a joint Hotmail account with my dad. Aside from a series of comments she left on my website telling me what a handsome boy I am, she’s untraceable. This polite, sweet woman has unwittingly become the online equivalent of Jason Bourne. She could become a serial killer, and no one would ever find her.

Which makes me nervous, because she does spend a large amount of time talking about the TV show “Dexter”.

You may be wondering why this is a problem. She’s a nice person. Surely, she wouldn’t blow up a bus full of nuns or storm into Comcast’s offices and just start punching people, no matter how much we’d all like her to do the latter. The problem is that she gave birth to a terrible person like me, so there’s really no telling what sort of evil lurks inside her. This horrible personality of mine can’t entirely be my father’s fault. No one could be as unlikeable as me unless BOTH parents were devious bastards.

She’s clearly hiding something, and while I’m far too lazy to find out what it is myself, I’m going to give the government all the information I have on her so they can do the dirty work for me. So in the interest of safety, I’ll be posting all my mom’s personal information in this column, as a sort of complimentary government file that makes up for her lack of a Facebook, Twitter or Instagram account. Or Tinder! Sweet Christ. Imagine all the therapy I’d need to deal with her being on Tinder.

Without further ado, here is all the information President Obama needs to track my mother like a criminal, or wank to her phone messages or whatever the hell that goon does with the mountain of illegally obtained personal info he possesses.

Name: Yvette “Danger” Ryan

Location: Richfield, MN

Gender: Female (confirmed by my dad)

Education: Has a college degree, but it’s from Massachusetts, so it doesn’t really count.

Occupation: Putting up with her idiotic son’s bullshit.

Phone number: (612) 333-6333

E-mail address: juggalo4lyfe@hotmail.com (joint account with my dad)
Age: None of  your goddamn business, Paul.

Relationship Status: Married to John Ryan. Was once courted and subsequently assaulted by Orson Welles.

Interested In: Peace and quiet.

Religion: Agnostic, like all proper Catholics.

Political Views: Used to think John Edwards was handsome; doesn’t anymore.

Gang Affiliation: Crips

Facebook: No.

Twitter: What?

Instagram: I don’t understand these words, Paul. What do they mean?

Snapchat: This isn’t right. You can’t just post lies about me online.

Pinterest: Goddamn it, Paul. Stop it! I’m not on Poonter desk . . . or whatever it’s called.

Tinder: What do you think of Mad Men this season? It’s getting pretty good lately, though I don’t care for that Pete fellow. I like his wife, though. She’s very pretty. She’s on that other show, too. Do you watch that show? I’ve never seen it, but TV Guide said it was good. Are you eating enough? Your father and I will come visit this summer and make you some sandwiches.

Music: John Denver, Olivia Newton-John, Insane Clown Posse.

Movies: What’s that one Robin Williams movie where he doesn’t act like a retard the whole time? Dead Poets Society! Yeah, I like that one.

TV Shows: Any show that involves Tom Selleck wearing tight shorts.

Books: Stephen King. John Grisham. Also, any book that allows me to imagine the main character as Tom Selleck wearing tight shorts.

Video Games: Remember when Tom Selleck was younger and had really bushy hair? He was very wild and untamed then, like a sexy man on a deserted island. Oh, to be a lady on that forbidden island. I would not be very ladylike, I suspect. Sorry, but if you didn’t want to hear that, then why’d you ask the question?

Favorite Mustache: Tom Selleck

Favorite Private Investigator: Tom Selleck

Favorite Person Who Owns a Ranch: Tom Selleck

Favorite Tom Selleck: Tom Selleck

Favorite Murder Weapon:
 My bare hands. I like to feel the life draining out of people as I strangle them.f